The Namaste Breakup

To the casual observer, maybe you were the perfect couple—the nubby fabric to each other’s Velcro, the oat milk to her latte, the peanut butter to his jelly. But on the road called adulthood, lots of things lose their magic. That industrial-strength, grape-flavored sugar-goo we ate on sandwiches in kindergarten? Wouldn’t touch it now.

- Rachel Slade

Relationships can be like that.

THAT’S OK. YOU’RE MOVING ON.

Breakups are never easy, no matter who initiates the split. By nature, decoupling injects fear and doubt into so many parts of our lives. It can make us question our very identity: How could we have been so wrong about something so important? And because many of the things that seem to matter most in society are at stake—who our friends are, our economic standing, where we live—breaking up muddies our thinking; it can leave us feeling ungrounded, and it can turn our support systems upside down.

Twelve years ago, when my first marriage ended, I suddenly found myself lost in a strange and unfamiliar world. Up to that point, I’d spent most of my adult years as half of a pair, and suddenly I was . . . alone.

Or so it felt at the time.

During my divorce, people whom I’d assumed would always be there for me vanished. Others fumbled along, offering questionable advice and mixed messages. (My own mother, who has been married to my father for 51 years, still wistfully recalls things that happened at my first wedding while forever stumbling over the name of my current husband of nine years.) Some friends hedged their bets, picked sides, or went silent. Traitors! I thought.

Somewhere deep down, though, I had the feeling that I’d come out OK. I’d spent most of my adult life playing roles—mother, wife, daughter-in-law, student, employee—and in the midst of this breakup-induced gigantic upheaval, I hoped I could reclaim myself.